But I am sad, my speech bears so unfortunate a sound
To beautiful Aspatia; there is rage
Hid in her fathers breast; Calianax
Bent long against me, and he should not think,
If I could call it back, that I would take
So base revenges, as to scorn the state
Of his neglected daughter: holds he still his greatness
with the King?
Lys. Yes; but this Lady
Walks discontented, with her watry eyes
Bent on the earth: the unfrequented woods
Are her delight; and when she sees a bank
Stuck full of flowers, she with a sigh will tell
Her servants what a pretty place it were
To bury lovers in, and make her maids
Pluck'em, and strow her over like a Corse.
She carries with her an infectious grief
That strikes all her beholders, she will sing
The mournful'st things that ever ear hath heard,
And sigh, and sing again, and when the rest
Of our young Ladies in their wanton blood,
Tell mirthful tales in course that fill the room
With laughter, she will with so sad a look
Bring forth a story of the silent death
Of some forsaken Virgin, which her grief
Will put in such a phrase, that ere she end,
She'l send them weeping one by one away.
Mel. She has a brother under my command
Like her, a face as womanish as hers,
But with a spirit that hath much out-grown
The number of his years.
[Enter Amintor.
Cle. My Lord the Bridegroom!
Mel. I might run fiercely, not more hastily
Upon my foe: I love thee well Amintor,
My mouth is much too narrow for my heart;
I joy to look upon those eyes of thine;
Thou art my friend, but my disorder'd speech cuts off
my love.
Amin. Thou art Melantius;
All love is spoke in that, a sacrifice
To thank the gods, Melantius is return'd
In safety; victory sits on his sword
As she was wont; may she build there and dwell,
And may thy Armour be as it hath been,
Only thy valour and thy innocence.
What endless treasures would our enemies give,
That I might hold thee still thus!
Mel. I am but poor in words, but credit me young man,
Thy Mother could no more but weep, for joy to see thee
After long absence; all the wounds I have,
Fetch not so much away, nor all the cryes
Of Widowed Mothers: but this is peace;
And what was War?
Amin. Pardon thou holy God
Of Marriage bed, and frown not, I am forc't
In answer of such noble tears as those,
To weep upon my Wedding day.
Mel. I fear thou art grown too sick; for I hear
A Lady mourns for thee, men say to death,
Forsaken of thee, on what terms I know not.
Amin. She had my promise, but the King forbad it,
And made me make this worthy change, thy Sister
Accompanied with graces above her,
With whom I long to lose my lusty youth,
And grow old in her arms.
Mel. Be prosperous.
[Enter Messenger.
Messen. My Lord, the Maskers rage for you.
Lys. We are gone. Cleon, Strata, Diphilus.
Amin. Wee'l all attend you, we shall trouble you
With our solemnities.
Mel. Not so Amintor.
But if you laugh at my rude carriage
In peace, I'le do as much for you in War
When you